Fallout (00Silva)

Title: FalloutFandom: James Bond (Skyfall '12)Characters/Parings: 00Silva aka Bond/Silva, Q/Moneypenny (although not in this chapter)Rating: NC-17Word Count: 1,016Summary: James and Silva deal with being discovered by Q and Moneypenny. Part of Towards Dawn.A/N: I wrote more smut. Whateven is. WHATEVEN IS.

Later in the night, after Q and Moneypenny have left Bond slips into the bed he shares with Silva. It had been quite a day, and he has to remind himself to breathe. Silva is still here. The man won’t be going anywhere. He will not be alone. He didn’t know how terrified he was when Q and Eve had threatened to take Silva away. Not until it was over and he was shaking. He had put Eve’s gun down and sort of slumped into the closest chair. Silva had stood up and gone to him, and fixed it so that he could slowly massage away the fear. Eventually James had felt himself relax and breathe. He had reached then for Silva’s hand and held it, finding comfort there.

Now it was done. It was almost a relief that he didn’t have to be in this alone. That he could talk to other people about Silva. Perhaps Moneypenny and Q would come to see what he saw. And if not, then they would at least be a shoulder to lean on in this madness. He had no illusions to what he was now. A traitor to Queen and Country. He wonders if M would be proud, knows that she wouldn’t. This is what Silva has turned him into. A hopeless mess of a man. He supposes that it means that Silva has won after all. M truly would be ashamed, “You are thinking to loudly dear,” Silva calls out from the bathroom, “What is done is done.”

Bond stares at the celling, “She would hate me.”

In the bathroom Silva laughs, “Mummy was a bitch. She had broken you. I have remade you.” There is a pause and the sound of water being turned on, “You are happy are you not?”

He wants to lie and say that he is not happy. That Silva doesn’t make him happy, because it would feel like spiting on her grave. On everything he did to stop this madman. But that would be a lie, “I am.” He eventually says.

Silva enters their room wiping his hands on a towel, that he eventually throws behind him, “Then it does not matter what she thinks. Put mummy dearest out of your thoughts.”

He slips into the bed and beings kissing up Bond’s neck, reaches down and deftly unties the draw string on Bond’s night pants. James thinks about stopping him, about stopping this, but this is inevitable. This is something that was always going to happen, something that he has secretly longed for. He settles back against Silva and lets the man have his way, hisses when Silva’s fingers finally stroke against his cock—moans when Silva’s hand tightens almost to the point of pain. And it’s good. It’s so good. He had always wondered what it would be like to be cared for like this, to be so utterly owned.

Silva holds him there, almost helpless, while he slowly brings James close to completion. And then pauses. Bond can’t help the sound that he makes. He’s sure it sounds like a plea. Silva brings one hand up to cup Bond’s face, turns it to his, and kisses him slowly, leaves no part of James’ mouth unconquered. He smiles down at James, eyes bright. They are predator eyes. “Once I have you I will not let you go. You will not leave me.”

It is a command and James laughs. “As if I bloody could.”

Silva rolls over and opens the drawer on his side of the bed. A few seconds later he rolls back and ghosts his hands down James’ back. Silva lets out a soft sigh of, “Oh James.”

Part of James wishes that he didn’t know what Silva is thinking ... but he does. He has seen the scars that dance up Silva’s body, knows how unbroken his skin must seem. The hand on his back stills and then dips lower. There is the sound of a cap and then James feels the press of a finger—cool and sick—push inside him. He tenses, and the other hand goes back to soothing him. He cannot help the moan that he releases then.

Silva prepares him almost gently. The speed that Silva fucks him with one, than two, then three fingers, makes him almost want to scream. But he knows how to be patient, so he endures. Eventually, Silva removes his fingers and Bond feels an emptiness that is quickly replaced. Unlike the preparation, Silva enters him quickly. He groans at the burn of Silva’s cock inside of him, and turns to kiss his killer, kiss this man who has ruined him, “Don’t you dare hold back.”

“I wouldn’t dream it.”

Silva fucks like Bond knows he kills. There is an intensity there—a passion, a madness. Each stroke fills him, and then leaves him empty, craving more. This is dominance. This is control. With each stroke he feels his years of training leaving him, being filled with this man. He tries to push back but Silva holds him steady, makes it so he is unable to anything but take it. He feels heat slowly crawl up his body, feels it wrap around his cock and tug. And then he is coming.

He feels himself go boneless as Silva continues fucking him, using his body to bring himself off. There is a pause and he feels Silva come hot inside of him. Silva reaches down to kiss him once more—messy and sloppy—all his control stolen too. And then he pulls out.

Bond knows that his bed is a mess but he cannot get up the strength needed to move to his bathroom. Silva however seems to be stronger than him in this moment and he is glad for it. Silva stands and walks over to the bathroom and comes back with two warm cloths. They wash down in silence and then lay back down into the bed to sleep. If James smiles when Silva pulls his body to the man’s own, well, it can’t be helped.